Closer
by Alliriyan
Summary: Storm asked him a question once. Why had he embraced her for that first teleport, yet for every person he ported after that he only grasped an arm or hand, shoulder or sleeve. He’d pondered the answer, and then said three things. - Post X-2, non-canon.


_**Closer**_

_Post X-2, non-canon; __written__ in 2004._

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Kurt stepped forwards, and carefully wrapped his arms around the small woman. It was the closest he'd been to any person in many, many years. "I don't know what's in there. If we appear inside something solid -"

She shushed him. "There'll be a walkway at the same level as we are at now. You just need to go sideways."

Nodding, he held her a little tighter, closed his eyes and prayed. And they vanished in a puff of smoke.

Immediately, they reappeared inside the chamber. Storm stepped away from him. For a moment, he felt emptier than usual. Then he remembered to thank God for a safe teleport as he always did, whether he knew the way or not.

They both faced a little girl. She had bulging eyes, one a murky blue, the other olive green. Her voice was soft and insistent.

"Professor!" ordered Storm. "You have to shut down Cerebro."

The girl laughed. "Who are you talking to?" She mocked.

Ororo replied with ice and snow. Soon the girl began to twist and turn, as if she was trying to run somewhere but could not move. "Stop it!" She cried. By then, Kurt was on his knees, crippled by the cold.

Suddenly the girl vanished, the lights dimmed. Cerebro became dull and murky with the same greenish tinge that was visible throughout the underground base.

The Professor was a bald man in a strange helmet, sitting in a wheelchair. Kurt watched Storm as she knelt by her friend. Some strong emotion gripped his heart in a tight fist.

He'd been alone for so long. He felt so grateful to have found friends it hurt. He would help and protect these people as much as he was able, he decided.

God may have just blessed him with the home he had yearned after for so long.

_Thank you, Lord God. Thank you._

*

Storm asked him a question once. Why had he embraced her for that first teleport, yet for every person he ported after that he only grasped an arm or hand, shoulder or sleeve. He'd pondered the answer, and then said three things.

He didn't think the others would appreciate being embraced at all, being mainly men and teenagers who thought he was strange.

He'd never teleported with another person before, and wasn't sure how accurately his power would extend to her.

He hadn't been near another person in so long…

He couldn't finish that sentence, and wondered if she understood.

*

"Get Storm back to the Institute!" yelled Scott over the sound of an explosion. Kurt ported over to her and gripped her arm. They both vanished with a loud _bamf_.

They reappeared in a small field. Kurt had thoroughly explored the grounds within a few miles' radius of Xavier's mansion, getting to know stopping points so he would never have to teleport blindly when out of immediate range.

"Wait," said Storm before they ported again. She wrapped her arms round his waist, he placed his gingerly round her shoulders. "It's less disorientating this way," she said by way of explanation.

He pulled her a little closer, and they disappeared.

*

She would always prefer looking at his dark blue skin to the pale Americans. She meant nothing by it, but had grown up solely among people brown as or browner than herself. So what if the hue was wrong – the shade was right.

She traced his tattoos with her eyes. Scarification had also been beautiful among her tribe, although she had been given none thanks to being the witch-child. The one they feared, until they could use her to bring rain. Then they were controlling.

Kurt had been feared too. Sometimes she felt very close to saying something to him.

But he caught her staring at him, and she looked away.

*

Over time, he learnt that she had been considered a goddess by her tribe; for a short, miserable time sandwiched between longer miserable times of being hated or on the run.

He wasn't sure how to take it. He devoutly believed in the one true god, and this meant that she had once pretended to be a false god.

She tried to explain that she hadn't pretended to be a goddess; that was just what they had called her whenever she wasn't trapped in a tiny box. She was still claustrophobic.

Kurt liked small spaces. They were for clambering up to and hiding in, when he was chased, or cold, or tired.

She wondered if he would forgive her.

*

A day came when Logan of all people asked him frankly if he was ever going to cheer up Storm.

"'Ro's pining away for you. You can't just ignore her all the time."

"I haven't been ignoring her."

The Wolverine huffed and crossed his arms, not the type to say any more than that – not the type to say anything at all. Knives slid in and out of his fist, an ominous fidget as he stared wordlessly at the indigo man.

Nightcrawler hid his eyes and walked away. He was confused.

He had planned to live only for God, when God was the only friend he had. He had meant to be a proper priest, ascetic, celibate, you name it.

But God had given him friends, had given him Ororo.

He prayed for understanding.

*

It was war, of sorts. Xavier told them gravely that it would get worse before it got better, but that it would definitely, one day, get better.

Down in bunkers, hiding in claustrophobic havens; the mutants waited each day. They were unable to strike back. The incredible damage they could do would only fuel the world's hatred of them.

Ororo was going out of her mind. She missed the wind, the sky, the clouds. The only small space she could stand was the small space inside Kurt's arm, where she fitted so well. And Kurt's arms were closed to her.

He felt so awkward trying to talk to her that he had given up for a while. He spent much of each day sleeping, in the kind of hibernation he had used to make the days pass when he was alone all that time ago.

*

"I can't stand it any longer," shivered Storm, her over-bright eyes staring at the walls as if they were closing in on her. "I _need_ to get out of here."

When she tried to summon even a breath of wind, she worked in vain. Her eyes became blank white marbles, as her power raced endlessly around the inside of the bunker with nowhere to go.

One day she poured forth so much energy that lightning crawled all over her, tiny strands of light plucking at her ashen skin. The other mutants stayed far away from her, fearing her delirium.

Nightcrawler gave in when he saw her in that helpless, supercharged state. He was standing before her in an instant, wrapping her up in his arms and his old, paint-spattered coat. Lightning burned tiny holes in him, but he had felt far worse pains than that in bygone days.

He clutched her to him, breathed in her scent, ignoring the grease and smell of weeks underground. He flipped the little switch in his brain, and they were standing outside, in the old field.

The grass was gone, the earth scarred from bombs that had fallen short of the Institute. But Storm only stared up at the unmarked sky, glittering with tiny stars. Her trapped powers swirled far out over the hills and forests, stretching up into the sky and grasping the winds.

A gale whipped up from nowhere, and her namesake descended upon the meadow.

*

Later, they both lay in the shelter of a tree, watching the drizzle fall from the sky and breathing the sweet, fresh air deeply.


End file.
